CHAPTER 48: BLOOD AND PROMPTS

"Medics! Over here! For God’s sake, now!" Aeris’s voice shrieked.

She waved her arms frantically, her face pale under a layer of grime and blood spatter. A team in white and gray combat armor broke from the far end of the hall, their heavy boots pounding on the debris-strewn floor.

"Make a space! Get out of the way!" Viera yelled, her own voice hoarse as she shoved a piece of the shattered pillar aside with her shoulder.

Ning gathered Lian into his arms, rising to his feet in a single, fluid motion that cost him more than he let on. His own wounds screamed in protest, but he ignored them. He carried her toward the approaching medics, each step a careful, desperate measure. She was impossibly light.

As he moved, her eyelids fluttered. They opened, just a slit, but it was enough. Her gaze, unfocused at first, sharpened on his face. There was no gratitude, no gentle farewell. It was a glare. A pure, undiluted expression of fury that burned with the last of her strength. Then, her eyes rolled back and closed.

"Here," Ning said, his voice cracking as he reached the medics.

"Set her down, Hunter. Gently." The lead medic was already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. "On the count of three. One... two... three."

They transferred her to the anti-grav stretcher with practiced efficiency. Ning’s arms were suddenly empty, cold. He watched as they swarmed her, their voices a low, urgent litany of medical jargon.

"No exit wound. Massive internal hemorrhaging."

"Pulse is thready, dropping fast."

"Administering coagulants and a stasis field. We need to get her to the bay, now."

"Is she...?" Ning started, but the words stuck in his throat.

The lead medic glanced at him, his eyes grim above his mask.

"She’s alive. That’s all I can tell you. Now, stand back, Hunter."

The stretcher hummed and lifted, floating a foot off the ground. They moved quickly, a phalanx of white and gray disappearing down the corridor, their urgent footsteps fading into the cacophony of the Guild’s post-battle chaos.

Ning stood frozen, watching the empty space where she had been. He looked down at his hands. They were stained crimson, the blood already starting to dry and flake under the harsh emergency lighting.

Outside the main hall, the emergency lockdown was still in effect, klaxons blaring in a steady, monotonous rhythm. Reclaimer squads, clad in heavy black armor, moved with grim purpose, incinerating the last twitching remains of the corrupted beasts that hadn’t fled back through the collapsed rift. The worst was over.

"Ning." Aeris was beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. "The Grandmaster is convening an emergency assembly. He’s asking for you."

Viera stood on his other side, a makeshift bandage wrapped around her forearm.

"You can’t ignore a summons from him. Not now."

Ning didn’t answer. He just nodded, letting them guide him away from the carnage. They walked in silence, flanking him like honor guards, their shared exhaustion a palpable thing between them.

The Guildhall’s council chamber was packed. The survivors, Hunters of all ranks, Guild officers, and tactical coordinators stood in grim, silent rows.

At the head of the room, on a raised dais, stood Grandmaster Li. His face was etched with lines of fatigue, but his posture was ramrod straight.

As Ning entered with Aeris and Viera, a hush fell over the assembly. All eyes turned to him. He kept his gaze fixed on the Grandmaster.

"Hunter Ning Que," Grandmaster Li’s voice boomed, imbued with an authority that defied the chaos around them. "Step forward."

Ning walked the length of the chamber, his boots crunching softly on dust and grit. He stopped before the dais and stood at attention.

"Today, Yundao faced an unprecedented incursion," the Grandmaster began, his voice resonating with a weary power. "Our lines were broken, our command structure shattered. In that void, you stepped up. You, Hunter Aeris Sung, and Hunter Viera Rostova held the West Hall against overwhelming odds, protecting the last of the civilians. Hunter Ning, your strategic use of your abilities, your courage under fire... You did not just hold the line. You were the line."

He paused.

"Many brave Hunters fell today. We will honor them. But we will also honor those who rose to the occasion, those who proved their mettle when the city needed them most."

His gaze locked with Ning’s. There was a moment of profound silence, a pocket of stillness in the heart of the storm.

"By the authority vested in me by the Hunter’s Guild Charter, and in recognition of exemplary battlefield conduct and leadership," Grandmaster Li declared, his voice ringing with formality, "I hereby grant a ceremonial field promotion. Hunter Ning Que, you are no longer E-Rank."

As he spoke, a soft chime echoed in Ning’s mind. A translucent blue screen flickered into existence in his peripheral vision, visible only to him.

[Rank Updated: E-Rank - D-Rank] [Title Awarded: Defender of Yundao] [All stats receive a +5 bonus. New skills are available in the System Store.]

A wave of applause, hesitant at first, then growing in strength, filled the chamber. It was a raw, cathartic sound. The release of tension from people who had stared death in the face and survived.

Ning barely heard it. The new title, the rank change... it felt like ash in his mouth. He gave a stiff, formal nod.

"Thank you, Grandmaster."

"You have earned it, son," Li said, his voice softening slightly. "All of you have. Go. Rest. The cleanup will take time."

Ning turned and walked back through the parting crowd. Hands clapped him on the shoulder, and voices offered congratulations. He ignored them all, his focus a narrow tunnel leading out of the chamber.

"Ning, wait," Aeris called, catching up to him in the corridor. "The med bay is this way. We should check on Lian."

"We’ll go with you," Viera added, her expression uncharacteristically concerned.

"Later," Ning said, his voice flat. He didn’t look at them. He just kept walking, pulling away from their hands, from their voices, from the oppressive weight of the Guildhall.

He didn’t go to the med bay. He didn’t go to his quarters. He walked until the sounds of the assembly and the cleanup crews faded, until the corridors grew darker and more derelict.

He found a service hallway that had taken heavy damage. One wall was a spiderweb of cracks, a large panel torn away to reveal a mess of sparking wires and conduits. A cold metal bench sat against the opposite wall, miraculously untouched.

He sank onto it, the cold of the metal seeping through his uniform. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. His hands, still stained with Lian’s blood. He breathed. Hard, ragged breaths that felt like they were scraping his lungs raw.

For the first time since the first alarm had blared, he allowed his body to be completely still. He let the adrenaline drain away, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and a terrifying, yawning emptiness.

And into that emptiness, his mind drifted.

It wasn’t a thought, but a sensation. A sudden, phantom cold that had nothing to do with the metal bench. It was a wet, chemical cold, a cold that seeped into his marrow.

The tank.

The image flooded his senses. He was floating, suspended in thick, viscous fluid. Panic seized his chest, a primal scream for air that produced only a stream of sluggish bubbles. His limbs felt heavy, disconnected. He saw his own reflection in the curved glass wall in front of him, his face pale and distorted.

He remembered clawing at the glass, his fingers finding no purchase. He remembered screaming, a soundless, desperate shriek that vibrated through the liquid but went nowhere.

And he remembered the other things. The flicker of memories that weren’t his. A sterile laboratory. The face of a man in a white coat, his mouth moving, but the words were wrong, alien. A string of data scrolling past his vision.

[Subject 9... Memory integration at 78%... System assimilation in progress...]

The feelings, the sights, the silent screams, they weren’t just memories. They were a part of him, a ghost living under his skin. The cold of the tank felt just like the cold of Lian’s blood as it cooled on his hands. Both felt like a violation.

As if summoned by the thought, a familiar blue light pulsed in front of his closed eyes. The System. It materialized in the dark corridor, a stark, glowing rectangle of text.

[Locked Memory Fragments Detected – Would you like to access them now?]

He lifted his head, staring at the prompt. The words hung there, impassive and clinical. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Access them? Relive that? The cold, the panic, the feeling of being someone else, of being something built?

His fingers twitched. He shook his head, a small, violent gesture.

"No."

The prompt remained for a moment longer, then vanished, only to be replaced by another.

[Warning: These fragments are intrinsically tied to your origin and core programming. Viewing them may fundamentally alter your progression path and unlock new, unpredictable variables.]

He didn’t move. He just stared. Progression path. Origin. The words echoed the data stream from the vision. System assimilation.

He thought of Lian, of the fury in her eyes as she bled out in his arms. Why? Why would she come back? Why would she throw her life away for him? He remembered the name she had whispered before the chaos began. Tao.

He thought of the monsters, the way their movements had felt sickeningly familiar, like a warped reflection of skills he was just beginning to understand.

The questions were a physical weight. The path forward was a fog, and the only light was behind him, locked away in those fragments. The fear of what he was, of what he might find, warred with the desperate, burning need to understand why.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his right hand. It trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the choice. He extended a single finger, the tip hovering over the glowing "Accept" button.

He pressed it...